iComfort
by loganX5
Summary: Carly always does her best to help Sam through the tough times. Cam, sorta.


**Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly.**

**Warning: Contains mention of emotional and physical abuse.**

**A/N: I wrote this before seeing **_**iSam's Mom**_**, though nothing in that episode contradicts this story. Set when the girls are a little younger, maybe sometime in Season 1 or early Season 2.**

I find her right where I expected to. The bench in the park where she usually goes when she's upset and wants to be alone, but kinda doesn't want to be alone. 'Cos it's not like she doesn't realise this is the first place I'll look for her, and if she really wanted to be alone she'd go somewhere else, right? But I always find her here, in the park that's halfway between her place and mine, so I guess she doesn't mind me finding her. I still don't know why she doesn't just come to my place. I've told her so many times that she's welcome to. But this is Sam we're talking about, so a lot of the usual rules don't apply. So she's sitting on the bench in the park, in the dark and freezing cold of a late December evening, Christmas Eve no less, and of course she's not properly dressed for the weather, no coat or scarf or gloves, just her hoodie and jeans, and she's sitting there shivering and hugging her arms to her chest, hands thrust under her armpits trying to keep them warm, but I already know why she won't go home, not even to get a jacket.

We're alone in the park. We're nowhere near a mall, and anyway the cold and wet have driven all but the most dedicated and/or desperate of late-night Christmas shoppers back into their warm and comfy homes. Even the ubiquitous hobos that usually inhabit the parks and back-streets of Seattle have abandoned the great outdoors to crawl into dumpsters or hide under mountains of newspapers and cardboard.

I know Sam's seen me because despite not making eye-contact with me, she's wiping her hand across her face, even though the tears are long-since gone; if she cries at all, it's never for very long. So I make my way towards her across the grass, which is still wet from this afternoon's rain-shower, and I hope she at least had the sense to stay under shelter for _that_. I sit close beside her on the park-bench, our shoulders touching.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey," she mumbles back. She still won't look at me, but she leans into me a little, unconsciously seeking out the warmth of my body. With her face turned away from me, and concealed by the darkness, I can't see the bruise beginning to darken the left side of her face, but I know it's there nonetheless.

"We missed you at dinner tonight," I say. I'd begun to suspect something was wrong when Sam stopped responding to the texts I'd been sending her intermittently during the day, and then didn't answer her phone. But I knew for sure once she was a no-show at dinner, which we had actually invited her to, in anticipation of her turning up anyway.

"Sorry," she apologises.

"S'okay. Not your fault," I quickly reassure her. "Just a pity you missed out on Spencer's Christmas ham... But I saved you some."

"Thanks," she says in a lackluster voice. Not even the prospect of eating ham is cheering her up tonight.

I try to ask the next part as sensitively as I can, 'cos I know she doesn't like talking about it, but I still need to ask in case she like, needs a doctor or something. Not that she would ever admit to needing a doctor, but I ask anyway. "Was it really, really bad this time?" Like it could be anything other than utterly horrible, as far as I'm concerned.

Sam shrugs noncommittally. "You know it's always worse around Christmas. Loneliest time of the year for people who are alone..." She gives a bitter little smile. "Guess it just makes my Mom realise that her sole remaining family member not in jail or on the run or a million miles away, is her dumbass fuck-up of a daughter."

And then the anger hits me, like it always does. Anger that anyone could injure their own child like this. Anger at Sam's mom for hurting my friend, for ever making my wonderful Sam think that she was no good. I take hold of her by the shoulders and gently but firmly turn her towards me, forcing her to make eye-contact with me. "Sam, you are _not_ a fuck-up, okay!" The passion and vehemence in my voice surprises both of us a little, I think. "You're not! Don't you ever believe anyone who tells you that! Say it." She frowns at me, puzzled. "Say 'I am not a fuck-up,'" I instruct her.

She rolls her eyes and mumbles, "I'm not a fuck-up."

"Say it like you mean it!"

"Fine! I am not a fuck-up," she repeats a little louder.

"That's right! You're not." I add, a little more softly, "You have so many great qualities, and even if no-one else can see them, I do. That's why I'm so lucky and proud to have you as my best friend." Looking into her troubled eyes, I'm not sure she believes me, but I'll keep telling her as many times as I have to.

While I'm looking at her face, I try to check out how bad the bloody nose, split lip, and black eye is, without being too obvious about it, but she catches me looking and turns her head away from me again.

"I'll live, Carly."

I want to tell her that's _so_ not the point, but her tone indicates we're done talking about her injuries. So I ask her the question I always ask her, and get the same answer she always gives me.

"Why stay with her? Why won't you come live with me? You already know Spencer would be cool with it."

"'Cos then my Mom really would be alone. She'd have absolutely nobody... I know how suckish that feels, 'cos that's what it was like for me before I met you. I can't just abandon her... She's my _Mom_ for Chrissakes."

"She doesn't deserve to have you. I _hate_ her! I hate the way she treats you. I wanna' call the cops on her!"

"I'm not gonna' call the cops on my own mother, Carly!"

And suddenly I'm the one close to tears, 'cos I hate it so much when my best friend is hurting, and I want so much to be able to help her, but she won't let me. And I want to yell at her and call her an idiot for staying in that situation when she could leave, but I know she doesn't stay out of stupidity, but out of compassion, because despite everything that horrible woman puts her through, Sam still loves her like a good daughter should. And I know that probably makes Sam a better and stronger person than me, but I don't care, because a person as wonderful and special as Sam should never have to sit in a park, in the rain, alone on a cold Christmas Eve with bruises covering half her face. But I do my best not to cry, because then Sam would become concerned about me, and try to comfort _me_, even though she's the one who just got beaten to a pulp _by her own mom!_ And then next time it happens Sam really might go somewhere else where I can't find her, because she doesn't want me to become upset when I see her. So I can't cry. I just have to be strong for her, and help however I can, however she'll let me.

Despite all my good wishes to help, there's really only one thing I can think of doing right now, and its probably gonna seem pathetic, but I do it anyway. Sam's still shivering, so I slip my coat off and, scooting as close as I can to her on the park-bench, lay it over both of us like a blanket. At first, she sits there stiff and unresponsive, still angry over my threats to involve the police, I guess. Girl really doesn't like the Law.

"Okay, no cops," I promise, and she relaxes a little. I reach over to tuck the edge of the coat around her shoulders, and she leans into me a little more, finally half-turning towards me and resting her head on my shoulder, drawing her knees up under the coat as well. Seems she really was cold. I link arms with her under the coat, holding her hand. She lets me, probably because any passers-by won't be able to see; not that there are any passers-by - too cold for sensible people to be on the streets; but like I said, it's Sam, so throw the rulebook away.

I almost wish that it was colder, so that it would be snowing properly and I could at least have something to ice the side of her face and help with the swelling. But this is Seattle, with its messed-up Seattle weather, so of course a white Christmas is too much to ask for when you need one. I remember a few years back we did have a white Christmas, and Sam and I spent several days of our Christmas break in this very park, laughing and having snowball fights and flailing around on the ground making snow-angels. Sam has such a beautiful laugh, throaty and vibrant and carefree. I swear you could hear it clear across the other side of the park. But I don't think that happy and laughing Sam will be making much of an appearance over the next couple of days. Much like the snow. Of course, it's probably due to start raining on us again soon. Stupid Seattle weather.

As I'm sitting there contemplating all things meteorological, Sam has curled herself up into a little ball against my side. She sits mostly still, not saying anything, just shivering occasionally. I'm reminded of how small she is, physically (even though her personality could be described as 'larger-than-life') - despite being the strongest girl I know, her mom (a somewhat hefty woman) outweighs her considerably. No wonder Sam ends up so battered. And that's not even including the emotional damage.

As to be expected, it begins raining; just a light sprinkling. Neither one of us mentions it. Makes no difference. I'm staying here with Sam for as long as she needs. I can at least do that much.

We sit there for the amount of time it takes for our faces and hair to get thoroughly damp, and for little rivulets to begin running down our scalps to our necks, with Sam still not looking like she's ready to move yet. But then it starts raining properly, heavy enough for us to have to start wiping the drops off our faces, and for my coat, which had up 'til now has been keeping the worst of it off us, to begin to look quite sodden. Sam stirs, lifting her head off my shoulder and raking her wet bangs back off her face.

"Are you ready to go?" I ask.

She nods.

"Back to my place," I continue. She looks like she's thinking about protesting, so I head her off. "Like we originally planned."

"I'm not gonna' be much fun to be around at the moment. Not really in the festive mood. Sure you still want me over?"

"Of course I do, Sam. And if you don't feel like doing much, that's fine. I'm thinking... you and me curled up under a comforter in front of the TV, with leftover Christmas ham, until we crash out. How does that sound?"

The faintest hint of a tiny smile plays round her lips. "Actually, that sounds like an excellent way to spend Christmas Eve."

We stand up, and I sling my wet coat around her shoulders. She doesn't resist as I take her hand and start leading her back towards Bushwell Plaza. "You know you can spend tomorrow at my place as well," I offer.

She shakes her head at this. "Nah. I should spend it at home with my Mom. Even if she _is_ passed-out on the couch all day. Besides, you and Spencer should have some time together on Christmas Day."

"Then I'm coming over in the afternoon," I insist. Her mom never gets physical with her when there are other people around.

"Carls," she begins to object. She doesn't like other people having to deal with her mom when she gets like this, all drunk and obnoxious and hating the world. But I'm not taking no for an answer.

"You don't have a choice in this, Sam! I'm coming over! That's final!"

She sighs. "Fine, Little Miss Bossy! Come over." She knows better than to argue with me when I make my mind about something. Smart girl. "And Carls," she continues. "Thanks. For always being there... and for sitting in the rain with me even after I blew off dinner. Your like, the best BFF a girl could ever ask for."

"Aww... You're welcome." Although I'm wet and cold and miserable, I smile and hold my friend's hand a little tighter. Maybe, just maybe, I _can_ help make things a little better for her.


End file.
